


Was it worth it?

by sonicsora



Category: Brütal Legend
Genre: Character Death, Death, Gen, Ghosts, Ironheade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicsora/pseuds/sonicsora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gave up his life, but he felt like it was worth it. Only to save them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Y O U   A R E   D E A D

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cell0113](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cell0113/gifts).



> Once again based on my tumblr ask blog. I was given a prompt 'your dead' and ran from there.

_Y̳͖̭̬̥͛̇͌̓̐̍̚͟ơ̵̡̫͓̮̗͐̇̑̎͟ũ̺̫͙͓͉̳̹̺̓͊͂͗̒͟ a̹̩̣̝͎͍̞̒͋͌͊̾ŗ̢̳̟̘̥̩̭͔̗̃̔̄͑̔̎̚͠ḙ̶̡̘̹͕͎̔̐̅̈̚ ḏ̜̻̟̩̘̔͊̅͒̍̕͜͞e̴͖̤̱̳̠̹̬͌̋́́͘ͅa̧̝̟̫͉̬̯͕͒̇͋͊̽͑̓͂͆ͅd͎̪̹̱̙͉̫́͌̈̄͐̚͠͡͠_

You saved them.  


Was it worth it?

He wonders briefly, if he is truly forgetting his life. He can taste the name on his lips, but can’t find it now. All he really knows is he is here.

He stays out of need, out of protection, out of memories that slip by him the longer he stays here.

He doesn’t mind though. 

He watches them live whilst he fades. Whilst he flickers in and out of existence.

He doesn’t mind.

He loves them. He knows that much, he _feels_ that much. It is the sharpest memory he has, the clearest thing in his grasp. He’ll protect them. Protect them.

Even when he can’t remember their names any longer. He knows all he needs to. He knows that he belongs here. He simply sings into the breeze, lowly, softly, words lost to memories he can’t quiet grasp. Unfeeling fingers trying to clutch at the hole in his chest. It is long since empty, but it aches in a way he cannot understand. He ignores it. He has a duty, a job. A reason for this. 

Ir-Iron… Į̵̡̰̜͓̩̼̿͌̈̊͂̓͐͢͟ŗ̛͓̘̲͖̻̍̽͆̂͜͜͝ȍ̴̥̤̹̳͉̙̣̻̦̆̔͆̌͂ņ̵͓͔̙̥̖̗͇̜͐́̅́̿͂̚͟h̶̨̨̫̲̩͇̭͈͌̄̒̀̽͟͜e̡̟͔̺͓͚̾͆̔̓̕͢͜͡â̡̜̘̫̫̺̹̖̣̾̇̽͌̅̇͠͡d̸̤͉̝͙̺̻̤͓̖͔̃͑͌̀͐̊̿͋̈́̈ę̨̧͚̙̭̼̹̐͌̊̑̍̕͞. 

They- Ironheade is worth everything. Everything he has. He will keep giving until he finally blinks out of existence.


	2. Winter Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation, be it with Ironheade's reactions!

The winter is when the wind is at its worst. When the wind itself seems to be weeping. The sky cracks open, rain pours over the plains flooding the tall grass. The land becomes wet and cold, no one is particularly invested in going anywhere unless the sun breaks through the clouds.  


Kill Master can’t stand the idea of going out, he knows he isn’t really alone in that regard. No one in Ironheade is comfortable during the cold nights. Not when the rain becomes stronger, wind carrying the _sounds_. 

Not with what the wind carries to them. Whatever is out there certainly isn’t vengeful, but it isn’t comforting to hear either. It carries grief with it wherever it goes.

Some think it’s Ateulia, some think it's lost friends from the war- others whisper of demons lurking at night waiting to strike. Wild stories grow and fluctuate as people try to understand. Everyone wants to wrap their minds around whatever is out there. None of them ever add up to much or stop the sounds. No one is brave enough to actively go out to investigate. 

The bassist knows it is something else entirely. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, he’ll see _someone_. He never sees them for very long, only for a fraction of a second. When he turns to actually look, it’s gone. He feels a chill when he dwells on it too long.

He isn’t sure if he wants to know, if he should know. Some things are better left alone.

The healer does his best to ignore the low broken humming echoing through the valley at night, sometimes though, sometimes he could swear it sounded familiar. So familiar but he can't place his finger on it.


End file.
